I’m leaving the institution tomorrow. Once I’m out, I’m going to stop taking the medication they’re forcing me to take here. As I’m thinking about it though, I think it’s helping. I don’t have the anger or the agitation, and the depression has levelled to the point that I think I can function. When I first got here the depression was debilitating. My moods just feel stabilized and I’m kinda mellow. I think I’d rather attribute the change to just being here and getting things in perspective. I also kind of think that Bogart had something to do with it. I mean, I think I’ve helped him, at least a little, but he’s also helped me to realize that I’m not so mentally bad off as I thought. So I’ll stop with the medication and see what happens. I don’t like the idea of taking pills on a daily basis. Or maybe I just like popping pills too much and I’m paranoid it will lead me to bigger and better drugs. Psychiatric medication is basically pills to make you feel better. But so is ecstasy or cocaine or opium or whiskey. The difference is the addiction and the come down.

A part of me doesn’t want to leave because it has become a whole other world for me here. I feel like I’ve gone through the looking glass or like I’ve slipped through some veil and all I need is a doorway like a wardrobe and I can come and go as I please. But that’s not the case. There are mythical creatures here, spiritual beings, demons, monsters, ids, and egos encompassed in a range of psychoses and manifested as a parallel world in a Neil Gaiman novel. Yeah, this is like Neverwhere, the world beneath the London Underground. And it’s going to be hard to leave Bogart behind, as if the demons will at last be able to consume him once I’m gone.

Kristin seems kind of sad that I’m going and told me she’s going to draw something for me as a source of protection from the evils out there. She’s less crazy than she is intense and brilliant. Sadie still has been asking to see and touch my dick. I still say no, but now and then I catch Bogart holding his pants open while she looks down inside. He has this big, proud grin on his face like he’s all pleased with himself. He’s gratified at being mischievous and also because she says, “ooooh it’s so big.” I have to tell him that it’s not appropriate and stop him from letting her touch him. I think once I’m gone, he’ll probably get a blow job out of her.

He never got Kendall Goth Girl. He kind of freaked her out because he just comes right out with whatever is on his mind. She preferred me because I never speak, but I’d not engage her in anyway, we never talked at all because I’d walk away. She told Bogart that she’s a virgin and wants to stay one. But he gave her a pack of smokes so she would show him her tits while he jerked off. That happened yesterday though she wouldn’t let him touch them. I think eventually it will go further. She doesn’t have anyone visiting and bringing her cigarettes. Neither does Bogart for that matter. Only his mother comes, he doesn’t seem to have anyone else, not even any friends. No one has the patience to see past his manic personality and get to know him. He said he had friends he’d go to bars with, but based on what he says about them, it seems they only like to see how far he’ll go with the trouble he can cause. They instigate him for kicks. Now that he’s here, he’s no fun anymore for them. When his mother comes, she doesn’t bring him anything, not even cigarettes. Instead, she just comes and talks about his disorder and treatments and what works what doesn’t and how he’s acting while she’s there. He hears enough of that from the staff in the institution. She kind of pisses me off. Makes me grateful for my own mother. When I have people coming to see me, they bring me a carton of cigarettes. I haven’t smoked a pack per day, but I share them with Bogart and give him three packs. When I come on Saturdays to visit him, I’ll bring him cigarettes. So basically I supplied the smokes that enabled him to see Goth Girl’s tits. Maybe he’ll get more if he gives her two packs at a time. That has nothing to do with me, it’s her own ethics being skewed. She’s just suicidal, he’s got a significant mental disorder and truthfully has a hard time distinguishing between right and wrong most times.

The electroconvulsive therapy seems to be helping him though. He’s less manic and his subjects are less sporadic. I keep thinking that when and if he’s able to get out, maybe he can come stay with me. But I don’t know if I can control him or if I can trust him to stay out of trouble. It’s strange to think that there are Bogarts wandering around on the streets freely. He’s like a combination of a rabid wolf, unpredictable and dangerous; and a lost puppy bouncing around all over the place, jumping on people, and looking for a home.

Regarding my own life, I requested that only Pete come yesterday with no one else. I needed a debriefing of what to expect when I get home. He told me that Sweetheart is still at our apartment and for some reason that made me sick. I don’t have anything against her at all, but I don’t want to face her. She’s a grating reminder, and I also don’t feel up to dealing with her own grief, since it pertains to mine. I’ll do my best, but it will be really difficult. When I think of that, I don’t feel ready to be out. I’m afraid I’ll slip back into the darkness that brought me here. But I have to try because I have a life to live. Here has become an escape from that. I have to man-up, go out there and get my college degree and live and move on and face shit. Going to school will help to distract me. I miss Gary Oldman (II) and she needs me. I need to make things work out so people stop concerning themselves with me. I need to be the go-to guy again.

Pete also told me that Valentina was cremated and no services were performed for her yet. I actually went to the bathroom and puked when he told me that. They were waiting for me, which is a good thing essentially, but I don’t know how I will be able to handle it. Like I said before, it’s harder to deal with shit when everyone around you is looking at you through compassionate eyes expecting you to fall apart. I hate that, though I appreciate it. But I can’t believe she was cremated. Of course I never thought about it, what they would do, about services, what would or wouldn’t occur while I was here. I couldn’t think about it even if I wanted to. I guess part of Sweetheart’s decision to cremate her was spiritual, but it also was on behalf of me, to hold off on the services until I would be ready to say goodbye. I will never be ready to say goodbye, but we need to let her spirit go. I just wish I could hold her one more time. I wish I could hold her.

The theme song for this journal entry is “Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks, because it’s probably one of the saddest songs ever written, and I’m afraid to go back and face everything and feel this way again.

*note from Sage: the Terry Jacks version is below, however sometimes the video doesn’t work because YouTube says I’m in the wrong country to play it, hmmmm. So I’ve also included the Nirvana version here:

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